Addiction
by MetaphoricallySane
Summary: 'BBC Sherlock' Johnlock slash. John has a plan to stop Sherlock from smoking...


**Addiction**

Johnlock

(BBC Sherlock)

"No, Sherlock, you can't have one!" John fumed, crumpling the packet in his fist as Sherlock watched in horror.

"Just one cigarette, John, I promise, just one," he pleaded, lunging at John and struggling but the soldier stood his ground, holding Sherlock back with just one hand firmly pressed to his chest. He tried to put all of his weight on it, hoping John would stagger and he could snap back his cigarette and just goddamn smoke, but John just rolled his eyes.

"I was a soldier, Sherlock," he reminded, deadpan.

"One who left the war after getting shot in the shoulder; I'm so scared."

Sherlock swiped for it again, but John pushed on his chest until he stumbled back. They scowled at one another.

"I was also a doctor, and these-" he shook the packet in Sherlock's face, much to his disdain "-ARE BAD."

He could almost taste that thick, smoky nicotine just by the faint smell seeping from the squashed packet, but his eyes rested on John's steely gaze. His strength was admirable, yes, his care touching, but his pedantism infuriating beyond words. Sherlock knew he could break him. He smiled softly, making John frown in concern.

"You know what, John? You're right. I'm wrong. I don't need those cigarettes. It's just an addiction."

He spun, strode to his chair and sat carefully, lacing his fingers together slowly to watch John's reaction. He didn't move, just watched him with narrow eyes.

"I know what you're doing," John told him after a silent pause.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're trying to make me think that you're all good so I'll give them back. Fat chance, Sherlock. I know you think I'm stupid, but really, this is just beyond… you!"

Sherlock dismissed this with a slight wave. "Not at all. I'm trying to prove to you that addictions can be enjoyable."

John shut his eyes for a moment in irritation, his teeth clenched and hissed out, "Now what is that meant to mean?"

When he felt a clutch at his thigh his eyes shot open.

"Sherlock…" he warned.

"What?"

John looked down, struggling to disguise a gulp at seeing Sherlock down on his knees so suddenly.

"You can't… That's not…"

"Fair?"

"Exactly!"

Sherlock smirked. "Since when did I ever play fair?" He gripped a little harder and chuckled slightly when John's leg twitched. "You of all people should know that by now…"

As soon as Sherlock's lips touched the tender skin hidden by cashmere, John gasped and wanted to struggle – he was angry at Sherlock, wasn't he? For smoking… or… or something… – but his body and desire and lust and even a little bit of fear held him still. He found himself reaching back for his armchair to fall into, but Sherlock was ahead of him, quickly standing and pushing on his chest until he collapsed back, startled and still in shock by the time he realised his trousers were slipping away. He scrabbled, catching Sherlock's hands enough to tug him forward, unthinking of where Sherlock's mouth would be all too close to and gasping a little before glaring into Sherlock's deviously dark eyes.

"No," he ordered.

"No?" Sherlock questioned, tipping his head slightly to rest it on John's crotch. He smiled as warmth radiated through to his cheek. "I don't think you mean that…"

John had to laugh – even though it was mostly nervously. "Fuck you…"

Sherlock climbed up onto the chair with him, straddling him, cradling his chin in his long violin fingers. "Oh please, John, feel free to do so. You know I wouldn't object…"

Sherlock pressed himself closer into John until he had to shut his eyes. The detective felt him relax, trembling somewhat, and give in to the temptation. That was all Sherlock needed – he had proven his point. And yet… he had no desire to stop…

He pushed his lips to John's, licking out and pulling closer until he heard John moan in agreement. He rubbed himself against him, feeling John's pleasure hard against his own and kissing him stronger. John was powerless to resist, his back already arching slightly, his eyes loosely shut, his tongue blissfully occupied.

He saw his opportunity and reached for John's hand, weaving the cigarette packet out until John snatched it back, tipping quickly at Sherlock's intrusive tongue and tensing once again; Sherlock let go instantly, instead holding onto John's waist, allowing him to rock against him more. John jerked, but held tight to the cigarettes.

They breathlessly broke away, kissed again, latching and locking together, leaning on one another, whispering sweet praise until the cigarette packet tumbled to the ground.

But neither of them cared.

They'd both given in to their addiction.


End file.
